Chapter Twenty: Legacies
Arya weaved her way through the foliage on the outskirts of Ellesmera, Firnen rustling behind her. The dragon lacked the practiced ease of his Rider as she walked amidst the forest with barely a sound, but his footfalls were those of a dragon, after all. The near-magical stealth of the elves were difficult to match for any other race.
His nostrils flared as he caught the scent of Saphira not far ahead. The dragon-lady's smell was the last of its kind in these lands, and Firnen would have known it anywhere.
As Arya stepped around a large oak, they caught sight of their quarry.
Saphira's head twitched towards them, acknowledging their presence, but little more than that. Her gaze returned to Eragon, who was sitting on the edge of a small ravine with that startlingly blue gem held in his hands.
He undoubtedly knew they were there, but did not turn around. His voice was clear, albeit weary. "I'm afraid I won't be great company right now."
Do friends avoid one another when they are troubled? Firnen queried. Saphira snorted at that and glanced at the emerald male with some amusement.
"Perhaps not," Eragon admitted after a moment.
"You have been absent for days, Eragon," Arya said. She stood several paces away from the younger Rider, observing him as Firnen plopped onto the ground near Saphira. "We were concerned."
"I apologize for worrying you. I needed…" Eragon trailed off and then sighed, looking away from his Eldunari and into the forest canopy above. "I don't know what I need."
Perhaps voicing your troubles will allow us to support you? Firnen prompted.
At that, the Rider glanced at him, and his slit pupils belonged to a dragon. "What is there to voice that hasn't already been said? We all heard Glaedr. I am not a man, nor an elf. I have the traits of a dragon and belong to no race that has ever walked these lands. When I was changed, my own body began to slowly destroy itself."
His eyes fell back to the blue Eldunari, which pulsed with his thoughts—swirled with an inner light that was his. He shivered and the gem's glow trembled in-turn. "I should not be."
"Your mind is driving itself in circles, Eragon," Arya warned gently. "You are only hurting yourself."
"What else am I supposed to think?" He held up the gem and looked back at her, his face set in a scowl. "In the eight months since Saphira chose me as her Rider, I have become immortal and will now outlive any human, timeless while they age and die around me. I have been changed by a Shade and the soul of a maddened dragon into something that does not belong to any race in Alagaesia. Now I sit here and hold my very soul in my hand, in a stone that nearly crushed my heart. Shall I go into further detail?"
At least your sarcasm has remained untouched, Saphira pointed out dryly.
Eragon took a breath and set the Eldunari back into its pouch.
"While I agree that you have every right to feel overwhelmed, you do yourself no favors by tormenting yourself with these thoughts," Arya explained. "There is a time and place to ponder on your situation, but you are not in the right state of mind to do so now. And certainly not on your own."
"I am never alone," Eragon reminded her softly. Saphira lowered her head and pressed her snout to his head, ruffling his chestnut hair with her breath.
"No, you are not. And for that, I am grateful," she admitted. "Will you not return to Ellesmera with us? Oromis and Glaedr wish to speak with you more to prepare for Murtagh's arrival. Queen Islanzadi also wishes to meet with you. Your training must continue."
The young Rider took another deep breath and slowly let it out. He sat there for a few more moments before pushing himself to his feet, setting the pouch holding his Eldunari on his belt and striding past Arya and Firnen towards the elven capitol. "Very well."
The others followed him, though Saphira needed to move more slowly to avoid destroying any of the trees on their path. She was large, but slender enough to still walk through the woods at her own pace. She snaked her head through the foliage until her eye was set beside Arya, who set a hand on the dragon's brow.
Be careful with him, the dragon-lady said. He is in turmoil. His entire view of himself has been turned on its head, and I fear that the…suspicious and volatile nature of my race has emerged in him. Already he considers all around him a threat until proven otherwise. We few hold his trust exclusively. Do not lose that.
Arya frowned and glanced at Eragon's back. I would never seek to fracture his trust in me. But in time, surely he will overcome these troubles of his, will he not?
Saphira's great blue eyes narrowed. He is not an elf, Arya. Separate your race from him in your mind. He was born a man, and perhaps he holds some traits of the elves, but his being is that of a dragon and now that he knows it, his body and mind are readjusting. Until he grows used to that reality, until he fully understands himself, he will be on edge, and you know well that to be immortal is to not forget easily. Whatever happens now will be burned into his very being. The actions of those around him will set a standard for all that lies ahead of him. Be wise with your words and choices.
She considered that carefully before formulating a response. I will do what I can to keep unnecessary difficulties from damaging his trust.
See to it that you do, Saphira rumbled before pushing ahead to join her Rider.
Firnen looked up at Arya. She is as…uneasy as her Rider. Eragon's internal strife is affecting her, too.
Yes, Arya agreed. Take care, Firnen. They are our friends, but I fear they might yet bare their fangs until this problem has been resolved.
You need not tell me, the emerald dragon responded. Though I may have much to learn of the history of my race, my instincts say that to test an irritable dragon is to test fire and tooth and claw.
And do your instincts tell you how best to behave around them?
Cautiously. Not to be needlessly delicate, but also not unnecessarily blunt. Dragons are predators, Arya, and a cornered dragon is a most dangerous creature.
Indeed.
Oromis and Glaedr were waiting for them at Vrael's Tree; the place where the Leader of the Riders would have once resided. Eragon was currently staying there with Saphira, seeing as Arya had lodgings elsewhere in the city.
The massive, golden dragon studied the younger members of his Order with the same aged, sharp eyes he lay upon all things. I see you have deigned to return.
Eragon shot the huge male a wary glance. "Until I feel the need to try and understand myself again, yes."
Time does not wait for us, young one, Glaedr warned.
"Peace," Oromis sighed as Eragon and Glaedr locked eyes. Saphira's lip was curling into a snarl. The elf spread his hands out. "There is no need to argue. We understand that you are struggling to grasp who you are now. We will accommodate that as best we can, but we must also not lose sight of our goal and the world at large. Can we agree on that, Eragon?"
"We can," Eragon said after a moment. The boy broke his gaze away from Glaedr and faced Oromis. "Forgive me, Master. I'm trying. I really am."
"Your situation is not your fault. To try is all we ask," Oromis waved away his apology with a gentle smile. He clasped his hands together. "Now, though Murtagh is not yet with us, I believe it would be wise to show you where much of our training will take place. We will fly to my home at the Crags of Tel'naeir. Firnen, as you are not yet large enough to bear Arya in flight, she will ride with Eragon and Saphira for now. You are growing fast, and I suspect that you will soon be capable of carrying your Rider, but for now this is how you shall travel to the Crags."
"Yes, Master," Arya and Firnen chorused.
"Good. Come. The day is young, and we can do much while the sun still shines."
Oromis climbed onto Glaedr as Saphira crouched for Eragon and Arya to mount her back. Arya sat behind Eragon, hands resting at his waist.
Saphira cocked her head to one side and briefly regarded them, especially Eragon, with a strange look in her eye. Her Rider lifted an eyebrow and she shook whatever was troubling her from her mind, leaping into the air with Firnen as Glaedr took off.
Arya wondered at the blue dragon's look and voiced her thoughts. "Is something amiss?"
"No," Eragon stated flatly. He gazed forward, fixed ahead of them and said no more.
They arrived at the Crags of Tel'naeir after a short flight, landing by a small hut that undoubtedly belonged to Oromis. Once they landed, Oromis headed inside while the rest of them remained outdoors.
Glaedr spoke through all of their minds. I will take Saphira and Firnen elsewhere. We have much to discuss, and time is wasting.
Saphira looked at Eragon, sending a pulse of concern along their bond, but he shook his head. "Go. I will survive without you for a few hours."
See that you do, little one, she brushed her mind against his lovingly, then chased after Glaedr and Firnen, who had already taken off. Eragon returned the gesture and then focused all of his attention on Oromis, as Arya had.
The elf set about performing simple tasks, returning from inside his hut with stools in his hands. Eragon and Arya took their seats and waited as Oromis made another trip to retrieve flagons of cold water, leaving them to sit for what felt like ages.
Still, despite the elf's slow pace, (deliberately slow, Eragon suspected) he was not bored in the slightest. There was much to take in around him, and he closed his eyes to absorb the sounds of the forest with his enhanced hearing. He could hear the birds and insects chirping, the calls of creatures he knew and did not know in the distant woods.
He only opened his eyes when Oromis finally spoke. "You have learned the value of patience. That is good."
Eragon said nothing. Arya only slightly inclined her head in response.
"May I see your hands, Eragon?" Oromis asked.
He was immediately suspicious, but cast it aside for now and slowly acquiesced to the request. Oromis took them gently in his own and studied his palms.
"Correct me if I am wrong," the elf began. "But you have wielded a scythe and a plow more so than a sword, though you are accustomed to a bow."
"Aye."
"And you have done little writing or drawing, maybe none at all."
"Brom taught Murtagh and I in Teirm. It's only been a few months."
Oromis blinked. "He did not teach you in your younger days?"
The suspicion returned. "He was the town storyteller in Carvahall. Before I became a Rider, I saw him infrequently. Why would he have taught me anything?"
The elf looked like he was barely repressing a sigh. "Why, indeed?"
Eragon's eyes narrowed. "Who is he, really?"
"What has he told you?"
"Of himself, nearly nothing. Not directly, in any case. For being a seemingly obscure man living in such an isolated town as Carvahall, he appears to have connections with people of significance everywhere we go. And though he did not say it because he swore an oath of secrecy, I know now that he is aware of the Eldunari. He is not what he seems."
Oromis considered him for several moments. "Much of Brom's history must be left to him. I promised him to keep a number of his secrets, and I will not divulge them without his permission. He is…vexingly stubborn at times, but I can promise you that he is a good man with the best of intentions."
Eragon scowled and pulled his hands away from Oromis, looking over the Crags. The elf regarded the younger Rider. "You are displeased?"
"I am frustrated," Eragon corrected, his voice a low, albeit controlled growl. "It seems even my upbringing in Carvahall was cast in shadows and secrets. My mother disappeared barely a month after I was born, and I wonder if I will ever know her fate. Brom has spent years in Carvahall playing the role of a storyteller, and yet I cannot help but wonder if he was there because of Murtagh and I. He helped my mother and Murtagh get to Carvahall in the first place, helping us escape from…something. There is so much about my own life that I do not know, not the least of which is the identity of my father. Once, that question dominated my thoughts, and now it feels so utterly unimportant in the face of all else that has happened.
"I am not angry, Master, it's just…there are people deliberately withholding things that have affected me, and now I am not even the person I used to be. I feel as if I'm back in the Spine, lost in the mist with unfriendly eyes hunting me."
"You are not alone, Eragon."
"No, but in her own way, Saphira is as lost as I am," he frowned. "She knows herself, yes, but she knows nothing of her history. Nothing of her parents, if dragons even concern themselves with their lineage. Nothing of the history of her race. Nothing. Brom has told us some dragon lore, but it barely scratches the surface."
"You both have much to learn."
The boy said nothing more, his gaze distant and tired beyond his years. Oromis studied him for a few more moments before turning to Arya. A little warmth returned to his eyes. "I have read your hands before, Arya, but shall I do so again?"
She glanced at Eragon briefly and nodded, holding her palms up for the older elf. Oromis studied her hands for several moments, a faint smile curving his lips.
"You are very skilled with a blade, very skilled indeed. You are talented with a bow, and you write with elegant script and beautiful lines."
Arya felt a bit of pride from the assessment. She had worked hard to be who she was today. Eragon had listened to Oromis as he read her palms, but he appeared oddly…disinterested wasn't the right word, but perhaps indifferent? Given how curious he usually was, the expression was almost unnatural on him.
"Every day an hour after dawn, starting tomorrow, the four of you—and eventually Murtagh and Thorn as well—shall come here to train with Glaedr and I. Although I'm sure Brom will likely explain at length the extent of Eragon and Murtagh's training, for now I do not know what you are capable of. I am aware that Arya is a master of the sword and magic, but at this time, I would like to assess Eragon personally. I would ask that you spar with one another."
They nodded tersely and unsheathed their swords, guarding them with magic as they always did for sparring.
With that task done, they stood and walked a short distance away to face one another. Eragon held Undbitr in one hand at first, keeping the blade point-down and light in his hand as he studied his foe. Arya held her own sword at the ready, steady and sure of herself.
Eragon slowly paced in a semi-circle around the elf, considering her. They'd sparred before and always Arya had won. This would also be his first spar since his Eldunari was removed.
Their standoff lasted for a couple of minutes, and then Eragon stepped forward and swung Undbitr, feinting low and then rushing up high. Arya parried and they engaged in full.
The duel fluxed in its pace as Eragon tested his body again, feeling relieved that the pressure near his heart no longer taxed him, but also trying to find a weakness in Arya's form. Unsurprisingly, he found none.
He backed off and she pursued him, but was kept at a distance as he unleashed a flurry of jabs as fast as he could manage. Even so, she was untroubled by the maneuver and easily re-engaged when the first opportunity presented itself. Eragon frowned slightly.
He hadn't fought Arya all that much, but he knew by now that trying to outlast or outplay her would be fruitless. She was too skilled and far more experienced than he was. Every one of their duels had resulted in him testing a different strategy against her in an effort to find some vulnerability he could exploit, and all had ended in failure.
The pulse of battle made his blood race and Eragon bared his teeth in a fierce grin, blood pumping hot and fast beneath his flesh.
As the duel continued, he had an idea.
He wove a pattern into his defense, retaliating with the same moves several times over the course of the next few minutes. Arya responded as he expected, slowly pushing him further and further across the field to try and pen him against the edge of the forest.
Eragon wove the same pattern a fifth time and as Arya responded reflexively to his moves, he broke it.
The elf's eyes widened in brief surprise as Eragon's blade swept to the side where it should have risen. Though he moved fast to try and exploit that tiny opening, he was in too much of a rush and his foot slipped on the dew-slick grass beneath his feet. His feint was rewarded with only a glancing blow to Arya's torso as her blade drove home into his collarbone.
Eragon gasped and dropped as he felt the bone crack. Oromis stood up in alarm as Arya backed off, her face ashen. The boy fell to his knees and let Undbitr slip from his grasp.
Saphira roared in his mind. Eragon!
I'm fine, he replied. Snarling at his failure, he brought his hand up and carefully cast a healing spell. It didn't feel like a really awful break, but it still hurt.
"I'm sorry," Arya whispered, crouching near him and lifting her hands hesitantly, as if unsure whether to touch him or not.
"I slipped. It was my fault," he muttered. "I was clumsy."
Oromis knelt beside them and lifted a hand to scan the injury, but still half-blind with pain, Eragon bared his sharpened teeth and growled at the attempt, a warning from deep in his chest. The elf stilled, raising an eyebrow as Eragon glared at him warily and continued to heal himself.
"May I?" Oromis asked.
Eragon felt some of the pain fade and only blinked his permission, letting the bestial rumble in his throat die.
The elf carefully probed the wound with magic, ensuring he avoided causing additional pain. "It's a clean break. The internal damage is minor. You'll be tender for a few days, but nothing serious."
"I've had worse," the young Rider sighed. He closed his eyes as the wound slowly healed.
Oromis did not comment on that and moved on to the fight itself. "You lost your footing?"
"I was trying something different against Arya. She's too good for me to beat otherwise," Eragon admitted. "I was trying to get her used to a pattern so I could break it and get an attack in. I lost my footing in my haste. I couldn't dodge."
"A clever strategy, but yes, your inexperience failed you at the end," Oromis agreed.
Remembering their dual exchange, Eragon regarded his fellow Rider. "Did I hurt you?"
Arya placed a hand on her torso, at the spot where Undbitr had grazed her side. "No. Your slip made the strike too shallow."
"I suppose it wasn't a total disaster, then," he muttered.
His hand dropped as his collarbone finished healing, feeling the drain on his energy reserves acutely. Eragon sheathed Undbitr and stood up slowly with Oromis and Arya.
"Until your slip, you fought well," Oromis declared. "You might not yet be able to best a warrior as skilled and experienced as Arya, but your prowess with a blade is impressive. I will show you the sparring fields another day, and you may train there with other elves to continue honing your swordplay. I will likely also have you, Arya, and Murtagh spar together regularly. For today, I believe that is enough work with the sword. We shall move on to magic next."
"Yes, Master."
They spent many hours practicing magic so that Oromis could see the full extent of Eragon's abilities. Arya spent most of the time observing, for she had little to prove to their new Master—she'd had many more years to perfect her skills, after all.
Eragon found the tests challenging and at times frustrating, for it was clear he still had a lot to learn about the Ancient Language, but he did the best that he could and Oromis made it clear that there was no shame in simply not knowing something. He'd only been practicing magic for a number of months. Even with Brom as a teacher, there were a number of subjects they just hadn't gotten to yet.
By the end of the day, his head ached with exhaustion from the strenuous tasks Oromis had assigned to him, and he was a little relieved when Saphira finally returned from her flight with Glaedr and Firnen. From the way her mind brushed his, she was equally exhausted. Clearly, the golden male had seen fit to start hammering his knowledge into the younger dragons as soon as possible.
Saphira flew him and Arya back to Vrael's tree, where Arya and Firnen parted from them to clean up at their own residence. Eragon bathed himself and joined Saphira in the enormous space she had claimed for herself, where the dragon-lady was meticulously grooming herself.
She lifted her head as he entered the space and greeted him fondly. Little one.
Saphira, he brushed back with the same fondness. Tired?
My mind aches, she admitted, though not unhappily. Glaedr had much to tell us. There will be much more to learn in the future, I expect. I am looking forward to it.
As am I. It feels…refreshing, I think, to be allowed to learn without worrying about soldiers or the Ra'zac hunting us each day.
Doesn't it? Saphira stretched her neck out and loosed a light growl.
What do you think of them? Oromis and Glaedr?
Wise beyond measure, she said immediately. They are both remarkable on their own, and together they possess a wealth of knowledge and wisdom I believe will be invaluable to us. We have a much greater chance of toppling Galbatorix with their aide.
I think so, too.
She lowered her head to gently press her snout into his chest, and Eragon lifted his hands to cradle her skull in his arms. I know you want answers. I feel your struggle and frustration, my love. It is my struggle and frustration, as well. We will learn all that we must in time, Eragon. And if not, we will find our own answers.
Eragon sighed and kissed her scales. Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself. Gods, but I would go mad without you, Saphira.
Then it is fortunate indeed that I am here to stay your madness, she replied with a little amusement and a wealth of affection.
Eragon smiled at his dragon lovingly. Saphira? Have you thought of taking a mate? There are three male dragons fighting alongside us in Alagaesia.
Saphira snorted, blasting his face with hot air. Of course the thought has crossed my mind, but I do not think I will give it any serious consideration for some time. I still have much to learn of my race.
What do you think of them? Thorn, Firnen, and Glaedr?
Thorn, she began with narrowed eyes. I am uncertain of. I have known him since I hatched, and I will admit that we are good friends, but I do not think we would be suitable mates. Not anytime soon, anyways. Firnen is still too young for me to even consider him. Glaedr…
Saphira fell silent for a moment before she growled. I do not see him as a potential mate. He is an excellent mentor and a wise dragon, but we would not match well. We have grown up in times and places too different from one another. More than that, I do not think it would be wise.
Eragon nodded slightly, understanding her reasoning. At least you have your romantic problems figured out.
She snorted again, this time in amusement. Of course I do. I am a dragon.
Murtagh stood in Hrothgar's throne room with many of the Varden's leaders, the atmosphere thick enough to cut.
The Dwarf King himself sat atop his throne with his war hammer, Volund, laid across his legs and Orik standing to his right. A number of other dwarves, high-ranking in Durgrimst Ingeitum, were also present. Thorn had plopped down beside Murtagh and Garzhvog, eyes sharp as he studied the gathering. Brom stood close by with Nasuada and Jormunder, and his face was grim and taut. Angela was present as well with Solembum, although she'd brought up a stool and was knitting something while the werecat, currently in the form of a small boy, played lazily with a knife.
Hrothgar stroked his beard for several moments before he let out a long, deep sigh, and broke the silence. "What news?"
Jormunder stepped forward. "Our spies and runners report that Surda is under martial law by order of Morzan and his occupying force. King Orrin is still alive, but is effectively under house arrest and is unable to leave the Surdan capital. He is a hostage at this time and Morzan has taken complete control of the country. We should expect it to be annexed into Galbatorix's Empire soon enough."
"Do we know why Morzan did this?" Murtagh asked.
"The overarching purpose I'm sure is power," Nasuada admitted. "By claiming Surda for his own, Galbatorix has removed an important supplier to the Varden and expanded his territory. However, some of our spies report that there were less obvious reasons for the intrusion."
"Such as?" Hrothgar prompted.
Jormunder frowned. "They claim that Morzan is searching for someone."
Who? Thorn asked. Murtagh repeated his question aloud for the dragon.
"The details are frustratingly vague," Jormunder admitted. "They are searching for a woman, likely middle-aged, who is capable of magic and excels at hiding. Morzan has offered rewards for any information detailing such a person and a substantial honor for the one who actually locates this…quarry of his."
"That's not much to go on at all."
"It's plenty to go on if you know of the people who use magic in Surda," Angela broke in, although she did not look up from her knitting. "Especially given who we're talking about here. Morzan holds very little interest in common spell casters. Whoever he is searching for must hold some importance to him or information that he deigns valuable enough to undergo a country-wide hunt."
Nasuada looked at Angela, then to Jormunder. "Do we know anyone he would—"
"Why, Brom, you've been quiet as the grave since this subject was brought to light," Angela put her knitting to the side and looked up at the old man, raising a brow at the scowl on his face. "Do not give me that look. A middle-aged woman who excels at hiding and is capable of magic? You and I both know who Morzan is seeking."
"Who?" Orik urged. "Don't leave us hanging."
Brom and Angela glared at each other for several moments. The witch's expression was severe. "You have hidden yourself behind clever words and false trails long enough, I think. Do not pretend you don't want her to be alive after all this time."
"That is none of your business."
"No? Is it her children's?"
Brom's eyes fell away. Angela sighed.
Solembum balanced his knife on a single finger. "The woman you're looking for is named Selena. She was once Morzan's Black Hand before she betrayed him and fled the Empire."
"The Black Hand? The assassin?" Hrothgar frowned. "We thought for years that she was dead, but she abandoned the Empire? Why?"
"Her reasons are her own," Solembum answered. "But Morzan hunts her for a different reason."
"Which is?"
The werecat's eyes pierced Murtagh, who had felt a great cold coming over his body as the conversation went on. "She is Murtagh and Eragon's mother."
Silence filled the throne room.
Murtagh wheeled towards Brom. "You knew. That's why you helped her escape to Carvahall. She was running from Morzan."
"She was," Brom admitted, looking older than ever. "Selena knew her children would be targeted by Morzan and Galbatorix, so she fled back to her home town when she was pregnant with Eragon. I was working undercover at Morzan's estate at the time and helped her escape with Murtagh."
You failed to mention this, storyteller, Thorn rumbled, studying Brom critically.
"I needed to keep you and Eragon safe," he replied. "I promised her that. If the worst happened and you knew the truth, you would be taken straight to Galbatorix. From there, I would never have been able to rescue you before he could break your minds. So I've kept my silence and intended to wait until you were both older and stronger before I told you."
"Why would Galbatorix have any interest in them?" Garzhvog demanded. "Their mother was an assassin, yes, but why would he desire her offspring when she had already escaped his grasp?"
"For the same reason you have the same skill at resisting magic as your sire," Angela said. "Because being a Dragon Rider is in their blood."
Brom stiffened. "Angela…"
The herbalist met his gaze evenly. "They will find out. Be it from you or him. Which would you prefer?"
The silence between them was tense. Angela eventually broke it. "There were not many legacies among the Dragon Riders of old. Being the child of a Rider did not guarantee that one would also be chosen by a dragon. Oftentimes, such a thing was rarely the case, though it was more common in elves than men."
"You know this how?" Jormunder demanded.
"History exists all around us if one merely knows how to look for it," she said.
Murtagh was getting sick of all the riddles and avoidances. He faced the old man and set his jaw. "Brom?"
Brom took a deep breath. Faced the younger man. "Selena was…perhaps still is a remarkable woman. In her life, she grew up a farm girl, became an assassin, a mother, and then betrayed the Empire and supplied the Varden with information that would become vital. She helped to ensure that Saphira and Thorn's eggs could be stolen from the King in the first place. Ultimately, she fled Carvahall after giving birth to Eragon because she wanted Morzan and the King to continue hunting her. She led them on a wild chase and I know not where she ended up. She did these things to keep her sons safe. I kept my distance from the two of you as well, so that if I were discovered, your identities would remain a secret."
His heart was a rapid, hammering drum in his ears. Murtagh stared at Brom as the old man gathered whatever courage was left in him.
"Selena was your mother. Yours and Eragon's. Your fathers were different, but both were Dragon Riders once. Morzan became a Forsworn…and my dragon was killed."
Ice flooded his veins. Murtagh's every breath rattled and a cold sweat broke out over his skin.
One of the dwarves near Hrothgar swore. "You mean to tell us we've been harboring Morzan's spawn in our halls?! No longer, not that traitor's—"
Thorn roared, shaking the throne room in his fury as he rose to his feet and bared his fangs at the now-ashen dwarves. YOU DARE?!
Hrothgar stood with Volund in hand and slammed the hammer against the floor. "ENOUGH!"
The King fixed his followers with a sharp glare and they stood down reluctantly. He swung his gaze over to Murtagh, to Brom, and then back to the young Rider. "The sins of a parent are not the sins of their child. I do not think you should have kept this from us for so long, Brom, although I do understand your reasons for doing so. Would anyone accuse Murtagh of not giving his all to fight for the Varden? With Eragon and Arya, he helped slay the Shade, Durza, and brought an end to the siege of Farthen Dur! He was gravely wounded in the process! I will not see him punished now for something he has no power over. Or have any of you chosen your parent before you were conceived?"
Silence followed his impassioned spiel. Hrothgar sat down and let out a long sigh. "We are fortunate enough that the mother of our Riders was brave enough to take her children and get them away from Galbatorix's poisonous influence. They have grown up into respectable young men and they are invaluable allies to us. Would anyone here question their loyalty to our cause?"
Though no one objected to his statements, Murtagh himself was shivering in a daze and Thorn was filled with an immense protectiveness for his Rider. King Hrothgar, I thank you for your words, but I feel I must leave for the Dragonhold with Murtagh. This news is a shock, and we need to process all that has happened.
Brom translated for Hrothgar since Murtagh was in shock and the King nodded. "Go. Rest and find peace, young ones."
Thorn nodded and then used his snout to herd Murtagh out of the throne room, leaving the others to grasp the reality of the situation.
Nasuada watched the Rider and Dragon disappear and then frowned at Brom. "That could've gone a lot better."
"As opposed to Morzan telling Eragon or Murtagh on the field of battle?" Angela suggested. "There was never going to be a clean way to break this news. They were kept in the dark for too long, and the reality of their parentage would have been a shock regardless of when and where it was told to them. Every lie we tell incurs a debt to the truth. Sooner or later, that debt is paid in full."
Brom was rubbing his forehead, looking older and more stressed than ever. Nasuada considered him for another moment. "You must tell Eragon. In person."
"I can't leave the Varden now, not under the current circumstances," Brom disagreed.
"You can and you will," Nasuada ordered. "Your duty is only half-finished. We will attempt to find Selena however we can—if that is indeed who Morzan is searching for—and you will travel to Ellesmera with Murtagh and Thorn. They will need a guide since Arya is currently with Eragon. You will do this, Brom. You will go to Ellesmera and you will tell your son who his father is."
Nothing was said in the stark silence that followed until Angela clapped her hands together loudly. "Well, that settles that! Although I believe I must object on one matter: Solembum and I will find Selena. The Varden and dwarves are still healing after the Battle of Farthen Dur. None of your spies or messengers will be able to track Selena down, anyways. I can."
"I cannot allow that," Nasuada replied, frowning. "To send you alone to Surda with Morzan present is too dangerous."
"Forgive me if I seem rude, but if you recall, Nasuada, I do not actually work for the Varden, nor am I directly associated with it," Angela told her cheerfully. "Where I go and what I do is my business alone, and you technically cannot stop me."
"I do not think this is wise," Brom said, frowning.
"And I do not think you are in any position to decide what is wise and what is not," the witch retorted, standing with Solembum. "Two of our Riders are fractured and you have just dropped a rather large bombshell upon them. Eragon doesn't even know that you're his father yet. So I will find their mother while one of their messy excuses for a father attempts some kind of damage control. Goodness, what was Selena thinking, loving you two dolts? The poor woman's taste in men is abysmal!"
On that note, Angela helped herself out of the throne room, muttering to herself while Solembum sheathed his knife, made a lazy bow to all that remained, and followed his friend with a skip in his step.
King Hrothgar just shook his head in bemusement. "Is there any other world-shattering news that must reach my ears?"
"Not world-shattering," Garzhvog spoke up, watching the King for permission to continue. When Hrothgar made a gesture with his hand, the Kull went on. "I wanted to make a suggestion. The Urgralgra tribes have gone their separate ways after the battle. What's left of them, that is. I wish to ask your permission to seek them out and see if they will join the Varden's efforts to destroy Galbatorix."
"Side with the Urgals?" Jormunder frowned deeply. "After our people barely survived their onslaught?"
"It is only a suggestion," Garzhvog grunted. "Our numbers have undoubtedly thinned after the battle, so I am…unsure how many will be capable of war after this latest conflict, but if you wish it, I would seek those that desire revenge for what Durza and Galbatorix have done."
Nasuada pursed her lips. "I…believe it might be too soon to consider such an alliance, but we cannot completely discount more potential allies. We will need all the help we can get if we are to topple the Empire."
Hrothgar nodded. "I agree. We will consider the matter, Garzhvog, but whatever decision we come to, you must respect it."
The Kull dipped his massive head, satisfied. Brom crossed his arms. "While we're on the subject of moves to make next, I would like to suggest Garzhvog comes along with Murtagh, Thorn, and myself to Ellesmera, as well as a representative from the dwarves, if King Hrothgar permits it."
"I believe this would be wise," Hrothgar scratched his beard. "Orik. I would send you as mine kin to convey my royal salutations to Queen Islanzadi."
Orik dipped his head. "It would be my honor."
"And for honor," the King went on. "I would reward an unlikely ally of ours for his service."
He snapped his fingers and a group of six dwarves came out from one of the halls with an enormous, double-bladed axe in their grasp. The weapon was presented to Garzhvog, who stared at the creation with clear surprise.
"The dwarves have never granted such a gift to any Urgal," Hrothgar proclaimed. "And we do not do so lightly. But you have proven yourself an invaluable ally, and tales of your exploits have already circulated throughout the Varden and mine kin. With this axe, we would cement a friendship with you and any Urgals who would follow you, should they share the same honor you possess."
Garzhvog was silent as he relieved the six dwarves of their mighty burden and took the enormous axe in his hands. Where it took all six of them to bear its weight, the Kull hoisted the weapon in one hand and held it aloft to observe it with sharp eyes. He studied the work for several moments, his expression unfathomable.
At last, he lowered the axe, holding it at his side in one hand, and smashed his free fist against his chest. The impact was like a thunderbolt, echoing throughout the throne room. Garzhvog bared his teeth in a ferocious grin. "And so shall you have my friendship for this mighty gift, King of the Dwarves. Should ever you need my aid, I shall answer the call with this axe in hand."
This seemed to please Hrothgar, as he nodded. "Mine kin thought long and hard what name would best suit such a weapon. We are ill-learned in the language of Urgals, and thought it fair to present it with a name both of our races would know. Thus, it was named in the Ancient Language. Domia."
"Dominance," Garzhvog translated. "And it will bring us dominance over Galbatorix. With Domia, I shall cleave our races free of the betrayer's grasp."
"Do so and you will bring honor to all our kin," Hrothgar agreed.
A/N: Holy cow, I updated. I would like for my brain to update more often, please. All of my stories need love, especially this one. Good grief. Please brain, do my bidding.
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!